


friendly fire

by tsunderestorm



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-19 13:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22312042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsunderestorm/pseuds/tsunderestorm
Summary: It's not uncommon for Felix and Dimitri to spar with live blades.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 2
Kudos: 57





	friendly fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [errantspecter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/errantspecter/gifts).



> I requested some prompts on my [twitter](twtter.com/tsunderestorm) and got asked for dimilix and the prompt "taking care of each other when sick or injured". Enjoy!

Felix lunges and Dimitri dodges, but does not parry. He is larger, his weapon heftier, movements swift enough, but slower than his opponent. In Felix’s hand a sword is swift as the North wind and cuts just as sharply in mere portions of a second, and after thirty-five years of knowing each other mind, soul, and body, sparring with live blades wasn’t uncommon. The result is a touch of the wickedly honed blade to Dimitri’s bicep, ripping open the linen undershirt the king had stripped to so that they could spar and sending blood gushing. He cries out, sharp and loud in the open air of the courtyard, and no less than five guards round the corner from both directions, swords drawn and ready to defend their king knelt on the ground and clutching a bloody wound.

It takes Felix a moment to realize that Dimitri is hurt, a moment for his expression to twist from smug satisfaction to abject horror. 

He shouts, “You’re bleeding!” as his sword falls to the stones with a cacophonous clatter and he hits his knees in front of Dimitri. He doesn’t even offer the guards the glance that he would normally - the “ _how dare you think I’d be a true danger to_ him _of all people”_ look, Dimitri notices, and he can’t help but be just a little bit flattered by that - normally Felix, even with the way the years have softened his edges, would be demanding to know what their fucking problem was, sneering at their retreating backs. He waves away the guards rushing towards them as politely dismissive as he can manage, bearing his weight on his left arm, kneeling with the support of his lance.

“I’m all right,” Dimitri says Dimitri lets Felix’s fingers prod at his arm, using the shredded pieces of his shirt to try and mop up the blood dripping down into the crook of his elbow, trying to determine the severity of the slice so he can do something about it.

“Honestly, boar… just from sparring,” Felix scolds. Dimitri can’t help but tip his head back and laugh at the nickname, one that has long-since morphed from an insult to an endearment. “You’re too reckless.”

“That I am,” Dimitri concedes. The cut doesn’t hurt, not really - like slitting his finger on a piece of parchment, honestly, when he’s had far worse and has injuries that still, years later, make themselves known on days the cold air of the capital bites into his very bones. The reassurance of “ _I’m fine, truly_ ,” doesn’t make it quite past his lips, not when Felix’s brows are furrowed in worry and sincere concentration, and so he decides to keep how little Felix’s quick cut hurts to himself for just a moment more. 

In truth, Felix’s impatient fingers hurt more than the slice from his sword, bruising the tender edges of the wound in an attempt to staunch what is in all honesty _not_ a worrisome amount of bleeding. It feels… good, to see him like this. Goddess, that makes him cruel, doesn’t it? To enjoy Felix worrying? Cruel, selfish, manipulative… all things he does not want to be, but oh, the way his heart swells as Felix frantically summons his energy to his hands and holds them over the wound! Thirty-five years since the Pegasus Moon blessed him with Felix Hugo Fraldarius, ten years since the hard-fought war (and Dimitri’s war, inside) had returned his crown and Felix’s respect in turn, and he still feels giddy when Felix is so open, so honest, so unashamed. 

Felix has never trained much in faith, and for far from the first time he regrets not attending more of Mercedes’ seminars when she’d offered them during the war or… making any kind of effort to learn more, since. What little knowledge he has of healing is enough to close the wound and stop the bleeding, but little else. The ruined edges of Dimitri’s shirt flop weakly, and Felix frowns as he picks a few blood soaked fibers from the now-tacky edges of the wound.

“Why didn’t you parry?” Felix demands when the immediate danger has passed, reaching out a hand to shove weakly at Dimitri’s chest. It takes him by surprise, sends him backwards onto his ass in a very undignified manner that makes him laugh at himself. Dimitri knows why he didn’t parry - because he was too caught up in watching the way Felix’s intent rippled through his shoulder, down his arm and into his hands, too distracted by the beauty that is his best friend and lover with a sword in his hand. He won’t say it, though, won’t ruin this tenuous moment with such brazen honesty. 

“I expected you to pull your punches, to be honest,” Dimitri shrugs. “I suppose this is what I get for agreeing to spar with live blades!”

Felix scoffs, sitting back on his heels and staring at his dusty knees on the stones, hands balled into fists atop them. “In all the years we’ve known each other, when have you _ever_ known me to pull my punches?”

“I suppose that’s true. You never have… I’ve always gotten the most authentic version of Felix, that much is certain,” Dimitri says. “Although…”

“What, you thought it’d be different now that you’re king?” Felix can’t imagine _that_ to be any kind of true, not when Dimitri knows him inside and out the way he does, not when he hasn’t been _just_ the king’s right hand for over a decade. Not when they both deserve better than to lie to themselves. “Not a chance. You want someone to coddle you, you’ve got the wrong man.”

“You are right again, Felix. After all, it hasn’t been different these past ten years,” Dimitri laughs. 

Felix crosses his legs beneath him and settles into a place on Dimitri’s good side, flopping his head over onto his shoulder. He picks up Dimitri’s hand, resting it palm-up on his thigh and slowly, his fingers trail up and down his arm over each corded vein that stands out. He traces a line from wrist to fingertip of each digit, caresses the callouses from his lance and sighs when Dimitri shivers under his touch.

“It’ll never be different.”

There are servants and council members passing by the open archway to the courtyard and if anyone sees King Dimitri and Duke Fraldarius snuggled up on the stones, they either know better than to stare for too long or they just don’t care. Everyone tends to keep their distance from the King when Felix visits, and Dimitri’s heard more than once a murmur of “ _Duke Fraldarius is in the capital”_ met with _… so His Majesty is indisposed, then_ ”.

Dimitri likes it that way - let him be, let _them_ be. He matches Felix’s head tilt with one of his own, leaning so his cheek rests atop Felix’s head. The smaller man’s hair is silky soft, longer than he’d ever worn it when they’d been at the Academy, and he smells faintly of pine. Familiar things that are _Felix_ , one of the things that Dimitri misses most when Felix is away and his bed is cold.

“You’re heavy,” Felix protests, but it’s weak, a teasing formality He presses his hand palm-down against Dimitri’s, fingers finding the spaces between Dimitri’s where they fit perfectly. It’s a small, gentle gesture that Dimitri feels overtaken by, the simple touch of one hand sucking the breath from his lungs faster than a dunk in the icy lake. 

“You don’t typically mind my weight,” Dimitri teases, nudging his elbow into Felix’s side and bringing his right hand to cup his chin, tilting his face up to meet his gaze. “If I’m not mistaken… “

Felix blushes bright red and squeezes Dimitri’s hand in his grip so hard it _hurts,_ a punishment for the cheeky remark. “Quiet, Dimitri, or I’ll cut you up again.”


End file.
